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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991277">Let Me Buy You A Drink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vladamsandler/pseuds/vladamsandler'>vladamsandler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, F/M, anti omnic sentiments, lunchroom brawl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:33:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vladamsandler/pseuds/vladamsandler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Accusations fly wildly the morning after Baptiste stays the night with a drunken Mercy. But is there underlying truth to the rumors?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jean-Baptiste Augustin/Angela “Mercy” Ziegler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As always, we couldn’t have done it without you, Dr. Ziegler.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The mission went off without a hitch and Winston was singing praise to the support as usual.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course! My pleasure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The only major injury was Hanzo taking a bullet to the shoulder, but the archer expressed more frustration over being unable to shoot properly than any pain or distress.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The regrouping of the Overwatch agents who answered Winston’s recall has been messy to say the least. The success of this mission has restored a lot of shaky faith in the organization for many of its heroes. Thus, the younger agents seemed eager to celebrate with a night on the town.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jack disapproved, reasoning that Overwatch needed to keep a low profile and agents could be recognized in public, but Ana was quick to remind him of all the mischief he’d gotten up to when they were younger, living like stars in the original Overwatch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, are you coming out with everyone tonight?” Mei asks when she catches Angela reorganizing her supplies for storage in the dropship after touchdown on Gibraltar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela chuckles. “I don’t think so. Today has been eventful enough for me!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aw, come on, doctor. Why don’t you let loose a little? It will be fun!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela puts her hands on her hips and levels Mei an amused look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would like you to be there,” Mei offers. “I find it hard to keep up with the others sometimes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, fine. I come for a bit.” Angela felt pleased to see Mei’s excitement. “What time is everyone leaving?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The group took separate transportation to the bar downtown shortly after nightfall. Angela struggled with what was considered appropriate attire, but settled on a simple silk low cut blouse and a pair of form-fitting black pants. The others either decided on what would be most comfortable to dance in or wore their flashiest outfits, considering how infrequent these kinds of group outings were.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lúcio was easy to spot in his lime green hoodie at the entrance to the bar where Angela and Mei stepped out of their cab.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Angela! I’m so glad you made it!” Brigitte chimes, running up and grasping her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela feels a little over dressed suddenly, eyeing Brigitte’s print tshirt and tight jeans. “It’s good to see you too! Have you been here before?” Her nerves steadily increase as she notices the thrumming bass music coming from the establishment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, it’s awesome! I’ll show you where the bar is!” Brigitte guides Angela by the hand into the building, and Angela quickly grabs Mei’s hand to bring her along too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They train together through the mass of people moving from bar the dance floor and back again. She spots some familiar faces and gratefully accepts a seat at the bar from Genji. Angela orders a beer for herself and watches Genji follow Lúcio and Hana onto the dance floor. The three of them stay close together and dance freely, Lúcio of course stealing the show. He even causes some people to circle around him and cheer at one point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wow, I could never dance like that,” Mei says over her glass.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me neither!” Angela laughs. She can already feel the beer loosening her up and she relaxes listening to Tracer and Brigitte chat idly nearby about European “EDM”. (She assumes they’re talking about music and not some drug, based on the context of the conversation.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Later, after hours of booming vibrations and countless interactions of varying degrees of intoxication, Mei excuses herself to the bathroom and Angela is left alone at the bar. She orders another beer and looks for others she recognizes to watch them dance in the crowd.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I buy you a drink?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela starts at the question directed to her, but relaxes seeing one of the newer agents smiling politely at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Baptiste. I actually just ordered one.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, well allow me to cover the charge.” He orders a drink for himself and settles in the seat next to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m surprised to see you out! You never struck me as the nightlife kind of person,” Angela says to make conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste pays the bartender who arrives with their drinks. “I’ve been known to party down every once and a while.” He holds eye contact as he smirks into his glass. “What of yourself? Is this your scene, Dr. Ziegler?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela guffaws loudly, then slaps her fingers over her mouth in dainty embarrassment. “No, I got dragged out. All work and no play... so I’ve been told.” She smiles sheeply.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, Dr. Baptiste!” Mei chirps as she walks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste stands to offer her his seat. “Baptiste is just fine. How are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I’m good thanks. I think I might order a cab to head home soon, actually.” Mei glances at Angela when she says this, a question in her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mercy suddenly felt a little reluctant to end the night so soon. “I think I’ll stay out a bit longer,” she responds. She blushes at Baptiste’s pleased smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mei sees this exchange and slyly winks at her. “Okay, sounds good. Have fun!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Atta girl!” Baptiste commends Angela after Mei walks away. “We’ll make a party animal of you yet!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela scoffs and takes another swig of her beer. It’s going down easier now and she starting to really enjoy the taste. “Do you dance?” She asks Baptiste while watching Tracer dance with Hana.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I used to dance a lot when I was younger. Everyone dances where I come from.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh? Let’s see.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You gonna come dance with me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Angela laughs. “But I want to see you dance.” She hides behind her bottle playfully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you sure?” Baptiste sets his glass down and starts swinging to the music playing. “I could show you some moves.” He bumps his hip against Angela’s and she laughs again. “Come on!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She finally sets her beer down and allows Baptiste to take her hands and lead her to the dance floor. Tracer cheers and gives them some space. Baptiste alternates pushing and pulling her hands between them one by one and moves his feet around expertly. Angela feels her inhibitions slipping away as she basks in his glowing expression and flows with the sound of the music without thinking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had a couple (or maybe a few) beers after that and danced more than she has in a long time. Baptiste stayed near the rest of the night and Angela found herself really enjoying his company. Their conversations flow easily and their personalities seem to click. Angela can’t remember the last time she found the company of another so electrifying and comfortable at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After she poorly conceals another yawn, however, Baptiste finally convinces her to let him take her home. They talk and laugh the whole cab ride and she holds his arm as he guides her to her quarters like a gentleman.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thang you. Y’are very sweet,” Angela slurs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re welcome, doctor. And you are very drunk.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, m’not...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste laughs, but if Angela’s wits were sharper at the moment she’d see a vulnerable softness in his eyes as they stand before her door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can I get you some water?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela nods, suddenly noticing the parchness of her throat. She doesn’t bother trying to stifle another yawn and turns to unlock her door as Baptiste leaves to fetch a glass from the nearby commons.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Baptiste returns a moment later, he knocks on the open door, expecting to see the doctor sprawled on her bed. “Angela?” he calls quietly, closing the door behind him and setting the glass of water on the bedside shelf. He moves past the empty room to peer into the next, a small study of sorts. He sees Angela standing by a book shelf facing away from him in the dim lamplight. The curve of her shoulders indicate she’s inspecting something closely in her hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, you should have some water and get some sleep,” he reminds her gently. He doesn’t want to leave her alone until he can make sure she falls asleep in a safe recovery position, just in case.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela sniffles and nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, so you’re that kind of drunk.” Baptiste scratches the back of his head awkwardly before approaching to sooth her. He places a hand delicately on her shoulder. “Everything is gonna be alright. Come here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela presses her wet cheek into Baptiste’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s this all about, love?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just... miss’m.” Angela pulls away slightly to show him the picture in her hands. A young toothy-grinned girl stands beside what Baptiste assumes to be Angela’s parents based on their likeness to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your mum and dad, huh?” Baptiste feels a gnawing awkwardness, unsure how to comfort Angela.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Seemingly sensing this tension, Angela rubs her cheeks and sniffs again, placing the photo back on the shelf in its hard light frame. She rubs her arms, suddenly self conscious being seen in this state. “Ja... the Omnic’risis...” She rubs her tears away again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come have some water,” Baptiste offers gently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the bedroom, Angela sits on the edge of the bed and Baptiste perches next to her. She drinks from the glass on the shelf and sniffles again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste rubs his hands together between his knees. He deliberates carefully over his words. “I lost my parents in the Crisis too... I know what it’s like... to have your whole world ripped away from you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela sets the glass down and frowns sympathetically at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste stares into nothing, thinking back to the uncertainty and chaos of that time in his life. He never thought he’d live this long alone, without their support, without his community. He’d have taken just about any offer of life given to him. Unfortunately the life Talon offered was not what it was made out to be.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clenches his fists, feeling the old frustration and guilt rise up in him again. The weight of Angela’s head settling onto his shoulder snaps him out of his reverie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Overwatch has given him the opportunity to make up for all his past mistakes. It’s given him people to protect and fight for, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, bedtime.” He holds Angela’s shoulders and gently reclines her onto her pillow. The he stands to lift her feet up onto the bed as well and remove her shoes. Lastly, he clicks off all the lights, sets the window tint to full for the morning, and pulls Angela’s shoulder until she’s laying on her side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste hesitates before moving away, taking a selfish moment to brush a stray hair out of her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela suddenly grabs his hand as he straightens. “Stay... f’r a lil while.” she requests softly, eyes squinting at him in the dark. “Bitte.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” Baptiste lays down on top of the covers stiffly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“M’sorry ‘bout your parents...” Angela whispers. Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder as she drifts off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste turns his head to the side to watch her breaths even out and all remaining distress melt from her features. He smiles softly, expressing gratitude privately in his head, among other emotions.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mei, have you seen Dr. Ziegler this morning?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi Genji! No... I can’t say that I have. I hope she got home okay last night...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Athena, do you know if Dr. Ziegler returned to base last night?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Affirmative. Dr. Ziegler reentered the Watchpoint at approximately 02:24.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Woah... That’s pretty late for her... Maybe I should go make sure she’s okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can accompany you if you would like. I have a message for her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, let’s go!"</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela groans as soon as she enters consciousness. Someone is knocking on her door and calling her name. The sound reverberates in her head like a pinball. She tucks her face deeper into her pillow... which feels suspiciously firmer and warmer than she remembers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela lifts her head and squints, inspecting what she’s got her arm around. Her eyes go wide when she realizes her company.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you alright?” Mei’s sweet voice rings out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dr. Ziegler?” Genji calls uncertainly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela sits up swiftly and cradles her head in one hand while she chugs water out of a glass on her bedside shelf with the other. “Yes... one moment, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She carefully finds her balance and staggers to the closet to grab her robe. She wraps it around herself before answering the door, and shields her eyes from the blinding hallway light. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, sorry, we just wanted to make sure you got home okay last night.” Mei’s apologetic look slips into amusement. “Are you...?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“–Just stayed up a bit too late, I’m afraid.” Angela puts on a winning smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doctor, Hanzo’s shoulder is looking worse today. He won’t admit it, but I think he needs more regen treatment,” Genji interjects.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela sighs inwardly, remembering her never-ending list of duties on the base. How could she have let herself be so irresponsible? “Okay, I will check up on him today. Thank you for letting me know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji’s attention shifts minutely over her shoulder in the sort of bird-like twitch his cybernetic enhancements lend. “Apologies for disturbing you, Doctor. We didn’t mean to interrupt anything...” Genji’s filtered voice lilts and Mei looks down to hide her smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela tenses and glances over her shoulder, the sound of the bed shifting only now registering.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning.” Baptiste smiles sleepily at the crowd in the doorway as he rubs one eye.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mei giggles and takes a step behind Genji.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela clears her voice, hoping to swallow instant refutations. The picture this paints must be quite clear. “Thank you again. Please excuse me,” Angela says quickly as she starts to slide behind the door. She blushes and leans against the door after closing it, hearing Mei and Genji’s low exchanges fade down the hallway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela peeks between the fingers of the hand covering her face to see Baptiste disappearing into the bathroom and reappearing with a refilled glass of water, taking a swig and eyeing her cheerfully. “Pain killer? I always keep some on me.” He pulls a slim container from his back pocket and offers it to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela sighs and slips a small sheet from the opening in the container before handing it back to him. “Thank you,” she concedes as the bitter film dissolves on her tongue. She also drinks from the glass Baptiste hands to her, looking down into it as she grips with two hands. “Did we...?” She clears her throat. “I mean,” she gestures vaguely to the outfit she’s still wearing, “But, um, did anything... happen? Last night?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mortification blooms on the man’s face. “No!” Baptiste coughs out in surprise. “No, you were... You asked me to– First of all, I would <em>never</em>–“ His hands gesture wildly, accentuating his fractured statements.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry, my memory is just... a bit fuzzy.” Angela doesn’t see the matching shade of red on Baptiste’s face as she cannot bear to meet his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Nothing happened.</em> You asked me to stay... I must’ve fallen asleep. That’s all.” Baptiste backs away towards the door. “I’m really sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s okay.” Angela shakes her head. quickly in reassurance. “Thank you for taking me home.” She finally looks up to express her gratitude with a sincere eyes and a shy smile. “I’m not sure I could’ve managed it on my own...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course. I had a lot of fun last night.” Baptiste smiles warily, still inching away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Til next time, Doctor.” Baptiste gives her a two-finger salute before spinning away and exiting. He berates himself in the hallway for the act on his way to his own quarters. Did he think he was being charming? What was he thinking last night? Dr. Ziegler is practically his superior! BOUNDARIES, he admonishes himself in his head. PROFESSIONALISM.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wasn’t ready to lose this job so soon after being accepted into the covert, globally-recognized, organization.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela’s workday is basically useless. Her head hurts to distraction no matter how much she strives for hydration. She apologizes silently to her liver and pops another pain killer tab after her lunchbreak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She opens Hanzo’s file on the tablet she picks up off her desk and makes a few notes before turning to submit the data to Athena’s archives. A knock on the door takes her mind off her desperate attempts at ignoring her headache and she winces. “Enter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Winston large form appears as the door slides aside and he smiles at her briefly before reattempting the age-old battle with her office doorway. He pushes one shoulder in after another, awkwardly sidling sideways. “Hello, Dr. Ziegler,” he grunts as the last of his bulk is pulled through.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hallo, Winston. To what do I owe the pleasure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um.” Winston pushes up his glasses and stands a bit straighter. “Well, doctor, I wish I could say this was a social call, but unfortunately I am delegated the task of... team synergy and interpersonal leadership.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela sets the tablet down with an expression of mild concern. She clasps her hands and leans against her desk. “Oh?” Winston wasn’t one for stuffy expressions of authority.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It has come to the attention of the senior agents that there may have been an occurence of... unprofessionalism among your staff.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My staff...?” Her title of head of medical research was not one that lent her much authority over any agents at the base. The reappearance of Agent Amari led to her reappointment to manager of Overwatch’s support division, making Angela’s research more of a side project of the department’s interests rather than granting her a seat at the leadership table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Winston wrings his large hands and pushes his glasses up again. “It is expected of our agents to maintain a measure of... mission-oriented focus in their relationships.” He clears his throat nervously. “Please, don’t consider yourself admonished in any way, I am simply here to remind and inform... of the expectations of Overwatch’s vision... The, uh, purpose of all of us being here together on the base...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela crosses her arms. “I don’t understand. Did Jack send you? May I speak with him about this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Winston sighs and rubs his forehead. “I assure you, Jack wants nothing to do with this. I was just asked to have a private word with you about your romantic involvement—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Entschuldigung!</em>” Angela gasps. She straightens off the desk and clenches her fists at her sides. “Romantic involvement? With another agent?! That’s what this is about?!” She blushes furiously and moves around to the other side of her desk. She plants her fists and looks down to hide her face. “My personal relationships have no impact whatsoever on my work here for Overwatch, and more importantly, are none of your or any of the senior agents’ business!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela doesn’t see the look of utter misery on the ape’s face as he, too, attempts to smother a blush. “Apologies, doctor, I didn’t mean to—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And for your information,” she interrupts, looking up finally after managing to conceal her embarrassment with anger. “I am not /romantically involved/ with any one on this base. I don’t appreciate the leadership team gossiping about my personal business or doubting my commitment to Overwatch’s vision simply based on a passing rumor!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I understand, doctor. I will pass on your feelings on the matter. My apologies. There was no—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good day, Winston.” Angela sits down in her chair and swivels away, fuming entirely too much to extend unrequited professional respect.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Winston leaves quietly, squeezing through the doctor’s office doorway as discreetly as possible, wishing he could shrink from sight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Angela listens to the door clicks behind him and then feels the heat blooming in her cheeks once again as feelings of embarrassment come rushing back. She bows her head in resignation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How many people on the base right now believe her to have had a drunken one-night stand last night?</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dr. Jean Augustin Baptiste has perfected the fried egg. The man stands patiently in the kitchen in a meditative silence while he waits to flip. The familiar amount of time goes by, the skin taking on the perfect texture, and he flips it over. It’s cooked exactly enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ever so gently, he slides the egg onto his plate after turning off the stove. Sprinkling only the needed amount of seasoning and grabbing his finished toast, the man carries his pride to the long-benched seating area outside the kitchen to enjoy his masterpiece.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The smell is mesmerizing and his satisfied hum is punctuated by a grumble from his stomach. He makes himself comfortable, raises his fork in anticipation for the delicious breakfast meal, but then suddenly lowers it to address a newfound company.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A man looking like a caricature from a old movie missing the mark on tasteful period production plops down on the bench across from him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Howdy, Doctor,” the man greets with his low, honey voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello.” Baptiste doesn’t have another moment to ask the man his name before Genji Shimada joins them as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Everyone in his field with legitimate (or otherwise) access to classified information knew of this cyborg. Dr. Ziegler’s feat of near-full body reconstruction and enhancement had covertly revolutionized medical science for at least the next century. Baptiste was always grateful for any chance of up-close inspection of her masterful work on the man.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dr. Baptiste–“ Genji starts in his strange filtered voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Please, just Baptiste is fine.” Baptiste extends his hand with a giddy smile and discreetly takes stock of the delicate amount of pressure applied in the handshake with the cyborg man, as well as the smooth and silent flex retractions of the metallic digits.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Baptiste, my name is Genji. This is McCree.” The cowboy tips his hat. “Please answer some questions for us. We would like to clear something up, the truth of which coming to light would benefit yourself as well as Dr. Ziegler.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dr. Ziegler? What about her?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you see, partner, there’s a nasty little bit of hearsay floatin’ around about the two of ya’. We’d just like to put an end to the gratuitous gossip.” McCree accentuates the alliteration with emphasized enunciation. “The other night after our team kicked up a mighty ruckus downtown, did you or did you not knock boots with the good doctor?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Americanisms are lost on Baptiste. He thinks back to that night and warmly remembers his victory in enticing Angela onto the dancefloor. Baptiste smirks. “All she needed was a little liquid courage! Then she was moving smooth like she was made for it.” He sways a bit as he explains, feeling self-satisfied in the knowledge that she wasn’t known to let loose to music like that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">McCree pushes the brim of his hat up and let’s out a noise of pure disbelief. He leans back and straddles the bench, stopping himself from getting up and marching around to the other side of the table to defend Dr. Zeigler’s honor right then and there after Genji shakes his helmet minutely at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, it’s true she was drunk?” Genji asks carefully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, unfortunately Dr. Ziegler doesn’t seem to handle her liquor very well. I took her home and made sure she got to bed okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you made sure of it, didn’t ya’?” McCree spits coldly. He shakes his head in disgust and lights a cigar to contain himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji holds his hands out in a mediating gesture. “You took her home, and then what happened? I was there with Mei in the morning, do you remember? We saw you in her bed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">McCree leans on his arms over the table and chews on his cigar with a challenging look at Baptiste.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um. Yes.” Baptiste’s stomach drops as he suddenly realizes the implications of this interrogation. “She was... emotional. She didn’t want to be alone. I made sure she fell asleep in the recovery position, and then, I mistakenly fell asleep beside her.” His eyes dart nervously at the squinting look coming from the tall cowboy. “That’s it. After your visit at the door, I fetched her aglass of water and then I left.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Horseshit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“McCree–“ Genji attempts to reason with the man, but he seems to have made his mind up about the answer to their inquiries.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zarya!” McCree calls to their large comrade sauntering across the room. “C’mere for a sec’, I think we’re in need of the <em>ruka medvedya</em>.” He stands, still chewing the cigar with a hungry look on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste shrinks as an enormous woman with pink hair approaches.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cracks her knuckles. “Da? Who is beetle to be crushed.” She follows McCrees nod and smirks at Baptiste. “Shame, I was hoping for omnic.” She cracks her neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji swiftly leaps between Baptiste and Zarya, delicately balancing on the bench with his hands stretched oppositely between them. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Others arriving to the kitchen commons to produce their own breakfast meals begin to notice the kerfuffle. They whisper and nod, looking on in either distress or entertained anticipation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Halt!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste stands from the bench, startled by the loud command and booming footsteps rattling his silverware. He gazes longingly at his perfect, now presumably, cold egg.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cease your aggressions at once. Violence between agents on organization grounds is prohibited. Please desist and disperse.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste gulps as an even larger form butts into the group crowded around him, staring in bewilderment at the robot’s hoof-like appendages and massive curling metal horns. It speaks with a mechanical woman’s voice and stomps towards Zarya with a flat, outstretched palm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do not challenge me, omnic, or you will leave with one less leg of cow to stand on,” Zarya growls, swatting the robot’s large arm away from her face with a surprising amount of force.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Orisa! I don’t think this is a good idea... Please, let’s just go!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A small African child tugs at the massive omnic’s green loincloth with one hand and balances a bowl of rainbow-colored cereal in the other.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Git along, heffy. This ain’t no concern of yours,” McCree growls, rolling up his sleeves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Orisa turns clunkily around. “I will not move. Safety protocols initialized.” Her visual apparatuses twist and click in Baptiste’s direction. “For your safety, please stay close to me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zarya steps forward eagerly. “Retreat, child. I will show your omnic that it must obey humans, or be terminated.” With a yell she launches herself on top of Orisa and wrenches the robot’s upperarms back, pinning them both with her bulging, muscular legs. She locks her elbows around Orisa’s horns and clasps her hands behind her head, hugging the djembe-shaped mechanism on Orisa’s back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl yelps and drops her cereal as Baptiste lunges to pull her to a safe distance from the conflict.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You heard what he said! He’s a dog!” McCree argues with Genji, meanwhile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Genji presses against his shoulders, holding him back. “Brother, you do not understand. Please listen to me, the doctor has done nothing wrong.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their conversation is drowned out as Zarya grunts and yells louder, the entire occupancy of the room gathered around now to watch the excitement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Defense mode, activated. Digging in.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Surrender, omnic! I am unyielding!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t hurt her, Orisa!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zarya cackles at that and flexes her thighs harder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give ‘em hell!” Torbjörn cajoles, laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tracer erupts into an argument with Lúcio after he begins taking bets on the winner of the wrestling match. Pharah and Hanzo challenge each other’s bets on Zarya.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Orisa suddenly starts beeping after one of her arms makes a loud popping sound. “Efi! I am in need of repairs!” She starts to resist more now, bucking and thrashing her legs. Baptiste shields the girl with his body as Orisa and Zarya’s combined weight crashes down onto a table; Loud crunching and metal whining sounds indicate its structural integrity failing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Many of the anti-omnic agents are cheering now, but the cacophony of the fight and its audience is drowned out by an ear-splitting roar from the entrance doors.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste and most of the others look up to see Winston beating his chest and baring his teeth. As the crowd parts and backs up in astonishment at the single greatest outburst anyone has ever seen from the gorilla, Ana hunched form is revealed next to him, lining up her shots.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zarya gasps and her stranglehold on Orisa’s neck releases. She falls off the omnic’s back and onto the ground with a loud thump. A second sleep dart punctures Orisa’s outer armor, this specialized ammo releasing a silent, incapacitating shock to her electric mechanical systems, and she, too, falls limply against the damaged table.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Winston growls as he straightens his glasses and Soldier 76 appears from behind him. “Disperse!” he barks at everyone present. Many scramble away quickly, still shocked by Winston’s aggressive demeanor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Torbjörn, please fetch Bastion to remove Orisa and inspect her functionality in your department office,” Soldier continues. “Efi, you may collect Orisa from the engineering bay later today. Please return to your quarters. YOU, you, and you, stay right where you are.” He points at Baptiste, McCree, and Genji in succession. “What the HELL is going on?! Overwatch is a PEACE KEEPING organization, and somehow you’ve got my agents turning against each other and full-out publicly brawling on the premises! Each of you, convince me why I shouldn’t fire every one of you right now!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Baptiste panics. “I didn’t sleep with Dr. Ziegler!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sir, with all due respect, I think the unchecked anti-omnic sentiments that have been brewing among the Overwatch agents since Recall are more responsible for the altercation than anything else,” Genji responds calmly with his hands grasped.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus, Jack. Can we not have a meetin’ standing over the body of an unconscious comrade?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you suggest?” Ana asks McCree lamely. “I’ll throw my back out dragging her all the way to the med bay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Soldier growls. “Dr. Baptiste, I want you in my office later. Athena will make the arrangements. For now, please assist Winston and Ana in bringing Zarya to medical.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry, this is unfinished. Please stay tuned.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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